Trapped In The Darkness - part 2
by ohmycroft
Summary: The second part of the story "Trapped In The Darkness". Post Reichenbach events. Sherlock Holmes was happy at last. But he had to give up on his happiness, in order to keep the love of his life alive. But he never knew what his leaving did to her. Is it too late for him to get her back?
1. Chapter 1

John was having dinner at a restaurant. Alone, of course. His meal had finally arrived, and he took a mouthful of it. But then he saw something that made him choke.

He saw the impossible.

And the impossible was walking right to him.

"Hello, John." he said lightly. And the ease he said these words in made him furious.

"No. This is not possible. You are _dead_." he mumbled in shock and disbelief.

"Now, didn't I tell you countless times to _think_ before you jump to conclusions?" he answered with a light smile. It all seemed to be a game for him.

"I did _think._ I saw you jump to your death. I saw your _body_, for god's sake!" he started shouting, and as the rest of the people in the place turned to look at him, he moaned and walked out. Sherlock followed him.

"John, wait."

"I've waited long enough. _3 years_, Sherlock. Do you know what it does to a man?" he said furiously. He took a deep breath. "You've let me down. I've trusted you, and you let me down."

Sherlock looked to the ground in shame. He hadn't really thought of how he might have felt.

"I'm sorry." he said quietly.

"I don't need your apologies. I don't care that you left me – I'm a grown man, I can handle it. But I'm not the only one you've left behind."

Sherlock lifted his face, and instead of guilt his eyes now showed fear.

"Dana." He whispered.

"Yes. The girl that you claimed to love was left alone. She saw your corpse, Sherlock. After having the trauma of her sister's death, of her _own_ death, she had to watch you die as well."

"Where is she?" he hissed.

"I couldn't take care of her by my own, Sherlock. I just couldn't. I had to check her in again." John said in exhaustion.

"You checked her in the mental hospital?" he asked very quietly, in desperation.

"Yes."

Sherlock started walking quickly to the road, searching for a cab.

"Wait, Sherlock. There's no point in going there to visit her."

"I'm sorry, John, but I'm not quite asking for your opinion about it."

"No, I meant that there is no point in going there because she is not there anymore."

Sherlock turned to face him again.

"So where is she?"

John hesitated a moment before answering.

"I – I don't know."

"What do you mean '_you don't know_'?" he asked in fury.

"It means that I don't know." John answered, ignorant to his anger. "She was there for 2 years, and then one day she just wasn't. Someone checked her out anonymously, and we have no idea who it was."

Sherlock's hand clenched into fists, and he walked around in rage.

"This is your fault. You shouldn't have checked her in in the first place."

"_My fault_?!" John shouted, equally angry. "Do you know why I did it, Sherlock? I did it because she tried to _kill herself_. After being completely ignorant to everything and everyone around her, after grieving you in complete silence and fasting for three days, she went to the top of the building _you_ jumped off, and she did the same. Only she didn't land well, somehow. She barely survived the fall. After a week she was better, and I immediately checked her in the mental hospital to keep her from hurting herself again. So no, Sherlock, this isn't my fault. This isn't anyone's fault but yours."

Sherlock was startled. She had told him about her occasionally being suicidal, and he had saved her from committing it once, but she was so well since then he didn't even take it under consideration. He needed to sit down, but he didn't really have a place to do so. John saw his sorrow, but as remorseful he was, he felt like he deserved this pain.

Sherlock suddenly lifted his head, and his eyes looked sharp.

"What is it?" John noticed the immediate change.

"Her phone. I can track it. I can find her."

He went closer to the road again, but then he turned back to John.

"I don't suppose you live in Baker Street anymore."

"No, I don't."

"So there's only one place I can be certain I'll be given help." he called a cab, and one stopped for him. He entered it, and left the door open.

"Are you coming?"

"I can't do this again. Not anymore. It's been too long." he said tiredly.

"Don't do this for me – do it for her. I bet you're dying to find her as well."

John reluctantly entered the cab and closed the door behind him.

There was an awkward silence for a few moments, since John was still upset with Sherlock, and Sherlock wasn't the best at chatting.

"So what have you been doing when I… wasn't around?" Sherlock asked awkwardly.

"Three years is a long time, Sherlock. I've been through a lot."

"Any girlfriend?"

"I'm engaged, as a matter of fact."

Sherlock was clearly surprise, and John wasn't sure if it should insult him.

"Oh, really? What is she like?"

John sighed.

"Can we not do this?"

"Do what?"

"Pretend that you care? Because if you had you would have told me you're alive, you wouldn't have left me to mourn over you for so long." he said and looked at him.

Sherlock was quiet for a moment.

"John, I –" he started saying, but then the cab stopped and John immediately left, leaving him to pay. After he did, he went out after him quickly.

"Wait, John, I –"

"Don't bother."

"If you don't want to listen to what I have to say, then you don't have to. But you really should follow me if you don't want to get lost." Sherlock said and started walking towards a building. John sighed and followed him. He caught up with him.

"Three years might be long time, but not enough for this to change." He heard him mutter as they entered the familiar building. And after they've walked inside for a minute, John finally recognized it. The big room, the men sitting in complete silence on chairs, and the big wooden doors they walked to. Sherlock opened them.

"Hello, brother."

Mycroft, to John's surprise, looked more confused than shocked.

"Sherlock, I thought you were…" he voice trailed off, so Sherlock completed his sentence impatiently.

"Dead, yes, I know. That was the point. Now can we please skip the whole sentimental reunion and get to the point?"

"And what _is_ the point, exactly?"

Sherlock looked at his eyes, and it didn't take Mycroft more than a couple of seconds to understand what he was talking about.

"I've already tried finding her. I still am, in fact. I installed a program that is meant to search for Dana's face in all of London's cameras, and alert me once it does. It never did."

"That's because you're searching for the wrong thing." Sherlock said, walked over to the computer and started working on it passionately.

"The chances that she still has her phone on her are tiny. What makes you so sure she does?"

"Did I say 'phone'? Sorry, I meant 'earrings'." he answered without looking up from the computer.

"_Earrings_?!" John said in fury. "Women change their earring every week!"

"Not these earrings. These are a present from her mother for her twentieth birthday. Only gift she ever got from her after Aly's death." he said, still without looking.

"I really did know nothing about her, didn't I?" Mycroft said quietly.

"Yes, you were a terrible boyfriend." his brother answered in thoughtlessness.

"Ah!" he shouted with excitement, and John came to see what happened.

There was a map on the screen, with a red flashing dot on it.

"Wasn't there an old hotel there once? 'Jades'?" John asked.

"It's been shut down ages ago. The building is empty ever since."

"Well, apparently it isn't. Mycroft, are you coming?" Sherlock straightened up and asked.

"Unfortunately, no. I've got too much to do here. But let me know if you do find her." he said as Sherlock started walking to the door.

"Sherlock." he called to his brother again. He turned.

"I'm glad that you're not dead." he said quietly.

Sherlock put on a small smile on his face, which John wasn't sure whether it was a real or a fake one, and they left.


	2. Chapter 2

They stood in front of the old building. Its walls were peeling, but its windows were oddly clean, so clearly there was still someone in there.

"Shall we?" Sherlock asked joyfully and opened the door.

He was obviously right. They entered a bright white corridor, with squeaky clean floors and walls and bright lights. It was all far to white in Sherlock's mind, but it didn't really matter. Each step he took led him closer to finding her.


	3. Chapter 3

"I see we have guests."

"Are they invited?" she asked.

"They always were, they're just a little late. Go and welcome them. You'll be happy to meet them."

"Happy?" she was confused by his use of this word. But she went anyway.

She left the office and walked to the guest room, and she stood there, waiting for those mysterious guests.

Sherlock was the one to open the door, and their gazes immediately met. He scanned her. She was wearing black heals, that seemed new accept for strange stains she had on the heels themselves. She wore a black skirt, and a black shirt. She _never_ wore only one colour. Her hair, that used to get just a bit under her shoulders, had now reached her elbows. The shade of her lipstick was darker than it used to be, and her eyes seemed colder – less alive. But after a few seconds she realized who she was looking at.

Her look instantly changed. Her eyes reflected so many emotions – love, hatred, fear, surprise, shock, confusion, betrayal, sorrow, and above all: pain. She walked backwards as they entered the room. She didn't even notice John was there too. All she saw was Sherlock, back from the dead.

"Hello." that was all Sherlock said, but even in this one single word, his voice broke and he sounded as if he's to cry.

A door opened behind her, and a man walked in, smiling smugly. Sherlock was too focused on Dana to pay any attention to him, but John wasn't. And he was startled.

"Sherlock…" he drew his attention to the man.

Sherlock's gaze drifted to the man, and his eyes widened.

"Moriarty." he said quietly.

"Hello!" Moriarty answered, and his smile grew bigger. Sherlock looked at Dana again, but her eyes were closed now. "Did you miss me?"

"You are dead."

"And so are you. What, did you _honestly_ think you were the only one to know how fake a death?" he walked slowly to stand next to Dana.

"Stay away from her." Sherlock hissed.

"Don't tell me you're _jealous_. The great Sherlock Holmes is back from the dead, and jealous!" he said with exaggerated shock and walked slowly towards Sherlock. Sherlock's hands clenched into fists, and his knuckles turned white. He took one step towards Moriarty, but as he did, Dana did as well. And her face was cold again, clean of every emotion. She looked somewhat protective over Moriarty, and Sherlock hated him even more.

"So, did you enjoy the visit, Dana?" Moriarty asked her.

"Partly." she spoke at last, and Sherlock cherished the sound of her voice. He had missed it so much. Then she smiled, and to their confusion, went over to John now. "I've missed you, Dr. Watson." she said cheerfully and hugged him. After a moment he hugged her back, touched by her words and guilty because of the way Sherlock looked at him. He frowned, but John could clearly see the envy and the pain in his eyes. She pulled her arms back, still smiling a bit, and then turned and stood next to Moriarty, and she no longer smiled.

"Well, it's great to see you again, Dana, but I think we'll take off now." John said.

"Take off? No, you're not going anywhere."

"What? Why not?"

"Because I can't afford having anyone else know that I'm alive." he paused for a second, and then continued in a lighter tone. "Besides, your friend here has information I want."

"I'm not telling you a word." Sherlock said coldly.

"Of course you won't. I'm not a _fool_. But you will tell her." he smiled in maliciousness. "Dana, dear, will you take our guests to their rooms?"

"Don't guests get to choose their room?"

"Did I say 'guests'? Sorry, I meant 'captives'."

"Follow me." she said, and walked out of the door behind them. They reluctantly followed. As they left the room, she blindfolded them. She pulled John's arm, and he pulled Sherlock's. John thought how ridiculous they must look. Sherlock was worried. None of the things he had taken under account when they came here didn't happen, and he is usually good at predicting events. They stopped, and it felt like they were moving up, as if they're in a lift. Even though he tried, Sherlock couldn't track the number of levels they climbed. After some more walking, they stopped. She put her hand in John's pocket and took his phone. There was a sound of two doors opening, and each man was pushed towards a different one. She shut the doors behind them, and they removed the blindfolds. Sherlock looked around in his room. It was completely empty of furniture, accept for a single wooden chair and a small uncomfortable-looking bed. The door didn't have a knob, just a keyhole.

"John?" he called out.

"Yes?" a faint voice answered through the wall.

He sighed. This was all much better as long as they weren't completely separated. As better as a situation like this could get, obviously.

"I'm sorry I got you into this."

"Don't apologize, Sherlock. I know you don't mean it. If you could go back and change our actions you wouldn't change a thing. You set yourself a goal – getting her back, and you didn't think of the ways it could hurt the people around you." his voice said tiredly.

"Hurt?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, Sherlock, hurt!" John was shouting now. "I have a woman, a fiancée, waiting for me at home. She must be so worried! And how exactly am I going to contact her? To let her not I'm not dead? And forget about me for a moment – what about your brother? Unlike you, he spent all of this time searching for her, and you came by, gave him hope you can find her, and then you just left! How do you think he must feel? His brother came back to life somehow, with a way to find the only woman he had ever loved, and never stopped loving, even after she came together with his own brother, and then he disappeared again. He must think you're dead! He must think we're _all_ dead, and he had no one to talk about it with." John was breathing heavily after he finished talking. This speech took a lot of energy.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock said quietly. He really didn't think of all the people he hurts on his way to his goal.

"I know you are. But that doesn't help." John answered, more calmly. There was no anger in his voice now, just sadness and desperation.

"Wait, did she take you phone?" John suddenly said after a moment of silence.

"No, she didn't."

"That's great! That way we could –"

"She didn't take my phone because I don't have it on me." he cut his excitement.

"Oh. Then where is it?"

After a moment Sherlock answered. "It's where I left it."

They both thought about their last phone call. Their last words to each other. Tears of anger and sadness filled John's eyes, but he wiped them away quickly. It was pointless to cry over an event that never actually occurred. Sherlock didn't cry, but he felt horrible. Just now he understood how much it must've hurt John when he faked his death.

There a sound of a ley opening a door, but it wasn't Sherlock's door. Sherlock sat on his bed, and put his ear against the wall, as he heard heels clicking against a floor.

"Dana." John said in surprise. She closed the door behind her.

"Hello, Dr. Watson." she said, and Sherlock heard a smile in her voice.

It sounded as if she sat down on something and it squeaked, so Sherlock assumed she sat down on the bed, probably next to John.

"I've brought you some food. I know it's not much, but you weren't supposed to get anything until tomorrow so I thought it's better than nothing." something was put down, and Sherlock wished he could see what's happening, instead of depending on his ears.

"I'll try getting you bigger portions of food every time, because they're not planning on giving you much food."

"You're not going to take his food and give it to me, right?"

"I wish I could, but we can't starve him to death. Besides, if it was his food, you wouldn't have eaten it anyway." she paused for a moment, and her tone changed when she continued. "Just make sure none of it gets stuck in your moustache." she clearly stifled laughter.

"What are you talking about? It's not that big." he was clearly missing the joke. Dana laughed, and Sherlock did as well, quietly, so she won't hear it.

She sighed.

"I haven't laughed it such a long time. I missed it."

"Well, if you ever get bored, you can always find me here." he said in both sarcasm and friendliness.

"Speaking of which, I got you something." Sherlock heard a movement.

"A pen and paper? What for?"

"Write down what you want me to say to Mary, and I'll type it up and email it to her."

John breathed out in relief.

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

They were silent for a moment.

"I'm sorry I'm keeping you here captive like that, but Sherlock has information we need. And if I'd let you go, you'll go to Lestrade right away and get him help. And don't bother lying to me and tell me that you want. You're too good. After all this time, you're still his friend. I guess you'll always be his friend."

She got up, walked to the door quickly, opened it using a key and left.

"She hasn't changed. Not really. She might behave like she has, but she hasn't." John mumbled, partly to himself and partly to Sherlock.

"She has changed, John. You haven't."

John didn't answer for a while.

"Do you want to know what I've learned from what she said?" Sherlock asked. This question was strange to John. Sherlock never asked if he wanted to hear his conclusions, he just said them. Maybe he has changed after all.

"Yes." he said quietly. As much as he hated to admit it, he still liked listening to his deductions. He always pointed out facts that John had always missed, and as stupid it had sometimes made him feel, he loved listening to him do that.

"Every time she was talking to or about you, she referred to herself as 'I' – I will give you more food, I am sorry you're here. But every time she was talking about me, she used the word 'we'. 'We' doesn't mean you and her, it means herself and Moriarty." he was telling him quickly. He had missed sharing his thoughts and deductions with someone, especially someone who not only likes listening, but admires his way of thinking.

"So, what does it mean?"

"She still cares about you. You're still her friend, John. Use it."

John smiled to himself. He liked knowing that this part of her really hasn't changed like he thought.

"But what does it mean about you?" came the inevitable question.

"It could mean that she's confused about her feelings towards me, so she avoids thinking about them by including Moriarty in making the decisions. It could also mean that Moriarty doesn't trust her with me, so he makes all the calls about me. It could also mean that she shares Moriarty's feelings and thoughts of me, and therefore uses the word 'we', since they think the same things. In any case, love isn't the first emotion that comes up when she thinks about me." After a while he added: "I guess I deserve it."

John was surprised by his empathy towards her. It wasn't like him to understand he made mistakes, and definitely not to admit them. Yes, he has changed. John was certain of it.

"Yes, you do."

Sherlock waited a moment before talking again.

"Although she was right about that moustache of yours. It is quite ridiculous."

John rolled his eyes. Maybe he hasn't changed after all.

"So what do you think will happen next?" John asked after a while.

"I don't know. But I _am_ certain of one thing – she is going to do whatever it takes in order for me to tell her how I did it."

Almost as if she was listening to them and waiting for the right moment to enter, a key turned in the keyhole and Dana walked in. There was a gun tucked in her skirt, and a knife in her hand. Her impression seemed so different from the voice her had heard through the wall minutes ago. It was so cold, clean of any emotion. Then she smiled a small cold smile, and shut the door behind her.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes." she said with that smile, a smile as fake as a plastic diamond. In one glance you wouldn't notice it, but if you really observe it doesn't take much to notice it's a fake.

"Hello, Dana." he enjoyed the way she pronounced every syllable in his name. He had missed the way she said it so much, that he barely cared that she started calling him by his last name again.

She gestured with the knife in her hand towards the single chair in the room.

"Have a seat."

Sherlock sat there, without taking his eyes off of her.

"Are you trying to deduce me? If so, you can give up now. We both know you can't." she said with fake amusement. And she was obviously right – of course he had the ability to deduce her, he just couldn't. Because every time he looked at her, his heart took control of his mind. He looked at her hand, and instead of seeing what did she do today, he thought of the way he used to hold it. He looked at her lips, and instead of seeing what she had for lunch, he thought of all the times her lips were on his. When it came to her, he was like everyone else – he saw, but he didn't observe. He _couldn't_ observe.

"What do you want?"

"You're clever. _Think_."

"You want me to tell you how I survived." he said coldly. Of course he knew why she was here, he just hope that somehow it would be something else.

"Actually, it isn't. Not for now, I mean. Telling me that is a _big_ secret. First you should know you can trust me, right?" she asked with that smile on her face, and Sherlock wished she hadn't smiled like that. Because every time she put on that smile, he couldn't help seeing Moriarty's smile. It was almost identical to it.

"So what is your question?"

"I want to know how you found me." she pointed the knife at him.

He giggled.

"Do you _honestly_ think you look intimidating like that?" he asked.

She shrugged.

"This knife is supposed to be dirty when I walk out of here. There are two ways for it to happen. And since you don't find the first one 'intimidating' enough, let's go for the second."

And as she spoke, and held out her hand and make a single cut in it. She breathed out in pain.

"No, no, wait. Wait, stop. Stop that." he said hysterically and got up. She gestured him to sit down, and he did. Her smile grew bigger now, and it was as vicious and as cruel as Moriarty's. That was the way he smiled as well, when he found his soft spot. And that was how Dana smiled.

"Now that we understand each other, you can start talking."

Sherlock didn't answer.

"How. Did. You find me?" she asked again, more irritated.

"No." he said, more courageously than he should have.

She looked at him with doubt, as she made another cut.

"No, no, wait. Wait. Cut me, not yourself. Cut me." he spoke frantically again.

"But _why_ should I cut you when this method is so _useful_?" she said in a tone that reminded him of the day when Moriarty gave her an earphone and told her what to say. But he knew these were her words now, and he hated himself even more for leaving her.

"Come on, Mr. Holmes. I'm getting bored!" she made a third cut.

"Alright, alright!" he said wildly, and she lowered the knife.

Sherlock took a deep breathe. He never thought she could break him so easily, and so quickly.

"I tracked down your earrings." He said with a sigh.

"My earrings?" she said in a somewhat sad tone, as her hand instinctively reached out to her ear.

"Yes, your earrings. I knew you would never throw them away, so wherever they are, you have to be there too."

"But how did you use them to track me?" she asked, and the cruel smile faded.

"I installed a chip in them, the day after I found you when you were about to…" his voice trailed off.

Her voice was shaking as she spoke.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes, for your cooperation."

She quickly turned around and unlocked the door.

"I'm sorry I left. I know it was wrong, and I _hate_ myself for that. I'm sorry they did this to you." he said to her, when she was just about to walk out of the open door. She didn't turn to face him. She just stood there for a moment, with her back to him, and then left and closed the door.

Sherlock sighed. He waited to hear the sound of her steps go further and further, but instead the stopped after three seconds. Both Sherlock and John went to the door and looked out through the keyhole. She was sitting with her back to the wall, her head on her knees, and wept. They couldn't actually see her tears, but she was shaking, and they could hear she was weeping.

Sherlock got up, walked a bit in the room, and then kicked his bed. He was so utterly filled with self-hatred. He had promised her he wouldn't leave her, and he broke that promise. The first time she left, he managed to save her in time. But now, it could be too late. At least for him. John still had a chance, since she still considered him as her friend. But he couldn't know what he meant to her. And he hated himself. And he hated Moriarty even more.

There was a sound of a door opening, but it wasn't his.

"Dana, are you alright?" John asked through the wall. The door closed.

"I know it's not fair that I keep you here like that, and then come to you when I need you, but you're all I got. The only friend I have here, and in general." her voice was shaking with tears.

"It's fine. Sit." he moved on his bed, and Dana sat next to him. It was difficult for Sherlock to understand what was happening just by listening, but he knew John was talking loudly in order for him to hear it more easily, and he thanked him for that.

"It's just that… I hate him. I really do. I loved him more than anything, and he so easily left me. I needed him, and he left me to look at his corpse. Do you know what it's like, to lose your sanity? To feel it fading away? It wasn't easy making me start talking again, but you know that, since you were the one I first talked to. He said he was sorry they did it to me, but he doesn't understand. _He _was the one to do it to me!" she shouted at the end, but she was crying too hard to keep talking. She took a few breathes and then continued.

"He did it to me. He took everything away from me, and left me with a constant pain, a hole in my chest nothing could fill, and with unending grief."

"I hated him as well. It's good, to admit that. It's good to let it out. I had to let it out as well after he…" he voice trailed off, but then he continued. "So what's the problem? Hate him, he deserves it."

"The problem is that I don't hate him. I mean, I do, but not as much as I'd want to. Not as much as he deserves. Not as much as I thought I would."

"So what _do_ you feel?" John asked comfortingly.

"I still love him." she whispered. And as she started weeping again, Sherlock's eyes filled with tears. He was so happy to hear that she loves him, but her love to him hurt her. And since he came back, all he did was to hurt her.

John hugged her.

"I do too." He whispered in her ear. "He is my best friend, and he always will be. But I think you have two options now. You could decide that your hatred to him is stronger than your love is, and let go of the girl you used to be, the man he used to be for you."

"What's the other option?" she asked quietly.

"You could forgive him. Like I did." he answered equally quietly, and his answered filled Sherlock's eyes with even more tears. How could he be so weak, so vulnerable? It wasn't like him. But then remembered what he said to John – everyone else changed, except for him. Was he referring to himself as well?

"I wish I was as noble as you are." she said with the faintest of smiles and hugged him.

"Thank you." She whispered in his ear.

"Anytime. I'll always be your friend, you know. Whatever choice you'll make about him. I'll always be here."

Her smile grew a tad bigger, and John couldn't help himself from smiling as well.

"Well, I better go now. Before anyone would wonder when I am." she got up and smoothed her clothes.

"See you soon." He called to her before she left, half-saying half-asking.

"I promise." she said and left.

He heard her steps walk away. But his smile faded away as he heard weeps again. They weren't as loud as before, but they were there. And only after a while he understood that they weren't coming from outside – they were coming from the other side of the wall.


	4. Chapter 4

"Good morning."

"Good morning, John."

"Are you alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be fine?"

"No reason at all."

Sherlock had hoped John hadn't heard his breakdown last night, but now he was certain that he did.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"Never mind."

They were both quiet for a moment.

"Sherlock, if you need someone to talk to…"

"I'm fine."

John sighed.

"I heard you. Last night."

"I thought so. Sorry about that. It won't happen again."

"But Sherlock, it _should_ happen again. You can't pretend to be a hero all the time. You told me yourself there are no heroes, so why exhausting yourself trying to be one? If you'll just let it all out –"

"As I said, I'm fine. You've spent so much time with your therapist you think you are one yourself. Not all of us need one." he answered anxiously.

"Alright. But I am here for you."

Sherlock kicked the chair, and John flinched.

"I'm fine!" he yelled. He looked at himself with disbelief. The man who was once confused by emotions, was now controlled by them.

"I did this to her." He whispered, loudly enough for John to hear.

"Yes, you did. But you can fix it. It's not over until you give up."

"What if she chooses to hate me?" he asked, and even through the wall John could hear the desperation in his voice.

"Then you'll make her love you again. You've done it before, you can do it again."

"She has changed."

"And so have you. But don't give up! Not now! She said that you left her when she needed you the most – _now_ is when she needs you the most! Moriarty turned her into something she isn't, into a coldblooded person, and you are the _only_ one who can save her. Not me, not Mycroft, not even herself – _you_. Don't give up on her, Sherlock." he was talking with such determination and hope, that Sherlock couldn't help himself from believe in his words. He smiled faintly.

"I don't deserve a friend like you, John."

"No, you don't. You led me mourn over you for three years." he paused for a moment, and just as Sherlock's faint smile faded, he added: "But you're still the best man I've ever known."

Sherlock was happy there was a wall between them. He was too emotional at the moment. He could have easily started crying, or maybe even hug him, if he was standing in front of him. But such actions would cause embarrassment to them both, so all he did was to say: "You made me who I am."


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock kicked the chair, and that sound made John drop his book.

"Sherlock!"

"I'm bored!" he shouted.

"Well that didn't take much." he muttered. "What am I supposed to do?" he said more loudly.

"I don't know. Anything."

"I have a riddle that you might like."

"Is it stupid?"

"What?"

"Is it stupid?" he asked again, more angrily.

"What? No."

"Then go ahead."

He cleared his throat.

"A man walks into a bar and asks for a glass of water. The barman goes to pour one when he suddenly lurches at the customer across the bar, letting rip a blood-curdling roar. The customer thanks the barman and leaves. Why?"

Sherlock hesitated a moment before talking.

"Wait, is that it?"

"Yes."

"Where's the riddle? I thought you said this isn't stupid."

"What – don't tell me you've solved it that quickly."

"Why, haven't you?"

"I…"

"I should have known you'll give me this kind of riddles."

"What kind?"

"Unchallenging."

"Could you just tell me what the answer is?"

"The man had hiccups. That is why he asked for water. The barmen cured him by giving him a shock. Did Lestrade tell you this one?" he was talking quickly, like he always did when he was bored.

"How did you know?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Alright, so no riddles. Any other ideas?"

"Just do something!"

"Well what do you want me to do, _sing_?" he asked sarcastically.

Sherlock didn't answer.

"No."

"Please, John. I could use a little laughter."

"No!"

"John, please!"

"No, Sherlock, I won't _sing_!"

"_You_ suggested doing that!"

"I was joking!"

"Too late for that now."

"I am _not_ singing. I can't sing."

"I know you can't. That's one of the main reasons I want you to."

"No."

"Please!"

"No!"

Sherlock groaned.

"Fine. Don't. Leave me here to die." he said dramatically and crashed on his bed.

"You're overreacting."

"You don't understand. You don't know what it's like for me to do nothing."

"You used to do nothing a lot with her." he answered after a while.

"It's not the same. Just being near her was an activity to itself. An activity I haven't done in a long time."

"You really do love her, don't you? You act like you're a rationalized super computer that needs work in order not to rot, but you're actually as human as we all are."

Sherlock didn't answer.

The door opened, and Dana walked in. The knife in her hand once more.

"Hello, Dana." he said and got up to sit on the bed.

"Chair." she said and gestured towards it. Sherlock wasn't sure why it was so important to her that he'll sit on the chair, but he knew it would upset her if he didn't.

"No."

"No?" she asked in surprise.

"No. You keep asking me questions, now it's my turn."

She considered his request for a moment. She knew she could easily make him sit on the chair, but she was curious to hear what questions he would ask.

"Fine." she said, and as she saw she has no other place to sit, she sat on the chair herself. Sherlock got up and started walking back and forth in the room.

"Why did you try to kill yourself after I 'died'?"

"Because I had nothing to live for."

"You have stains on your heels. What are they?"

"Blood."

"Your blood?"

"No."

"Did you use your shoes to kill?"

"No."

"Did you kill many people?"

"Yes."

"Did Moriarty ever hurt you?"

"Constantly."

"Why is it so important to you I'll sit on the chair?" he continued asking quickly, because even though he was desperate to know when and how he hurt her, and why is she talking about the people she'd killed in such ease, he had more questions he needed answers for.

"Because I sat on a chair when I was tortured and investigated by Moriarty's man."

"Why do answer my questions with honesty?"

"Because I have nothing to hide. Besides, if I'll lie, you'll see it."

"Why did you try to kill yourself after I 'died'?"

"You already asked that."

"But you haven't really answered. Not really. I mean, you still had John and Mycroft. So why kill yourself?"

She got up as she spoke.

"Why? Because I had to watch everyone I love mourn over you. Because every time I looked at John, all I saw was his pain. Because I lost the last bit of sanity I had left. Because I was trapped in an invisible cage of madness and pain, in darkness I couldn't escape. And you're wrong when you say that I 'tried' to kill myself –I _did_ kill myself. The girl that you loved, and loved you, is dead now." she was standing so close to him that he could feel her breathes on his cheek.

"Do you love me now?"

She didn't answer.

"Do you love me now?" he repeated.

"Yes."

Sherlock breathed out with relief.

"You forgot to ask me something."

"What did I forget?"

"Do I like the fact that I love you? I mean, you hurt me in ways you couldn't understand unless you feel it yourself." she said, and then her look changed, as if a thought came up in her mind. She turned and left, without saying another word.

Sherlock laid down on the bed. He closed his eyes, and tried not to think about what she told him. He knew that if he will, he'll have another breakdown. So he didn't, and after a while he fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

The sound of a door opening woke him up. He put his ear against the wall.

"Dana, is everything alright? You seem a bit… agitated."

"No, it isn't. Because I realized there is only one way I could forgive him. He has to feel what I felt, to grieve like I grieved. And in order to do that, I have to take the most important thing to him away from him. And we both know that's not me." There was a sound of a gun being loaded, and Sherlock started breathing heavily.

"Wait, Dana, think about what you're doing. Making him suffer isn't the solution. Wait, Dana, think about it. Don't do this." He said hysterically.

"Goodbye, Dr. Watson. I'm sorry it turned out like this. In order to get my love back, I have to kill my only friend."

"Dana, _wait_!"

A shot was fired, and everything was silent.

But Sherlock's head wasn't. It was storming.

He, himself, caused the love of his life to kill her, and his, only and best friend.

John is always so supportive, sarcastic, naive, optimistic… Only that now he _was_. _Was _supportive, _was_ sarcastic, _was _naive.

He understood now why Dana tried to kill herself. This was unbearable. But he couldn't do the same, because all there was in the room were a chair and a bed.

Dana entered the room.

"So what is it like? Feeling like there's a hole in your chest, that the reason for your existence, the reason you kept fighting, is now gone?"

Sherlock stared at the air and didn't answer.

"I'll see you in three years. Let me know if you're feeling any better by then." she said and closed the door behind her.

Sherlock led his back fall backwards to the bed. He wanted to cry, to weep, to let it all out somehow, but he just couldn't.

So he laid on the bed, without moving.

He did that for five days.


	7. Chapter 7

The door opened, and there were steps walking in.

"Mr. Holmes, are you alright?"

He didn't answer. In fact, he didn't move. Not even a bit.

"Mr. Holmes?" she asked again, walking quickly to his bed and sitting on it.

"Sherlock?" she asked nervously.

His eyes opened into small cracks. It was all he could do after closing his eyes for a period of time that seemed like forever.

"Have you eaten any of the food I brought you?"

He closed his eyes. He wasn't even hungry.

"Mr. Holmes. Sherlock." she called him again, and he opened his eyes again.

"You can't starve yourself to death. You've got to eat."

She put her hand behind his back and helped him get up to sitting. She put his back against the wall and gave him a small zip of water. He swallowed it eagerly.

"More." he whispered faintly, and she could barely hear it.

"Slowly. You can't drink too much at once." she said as she wetted his face. The water helped him open his eyes a little more. Dana's face was full of concern.

She led him drink like that, one zip at a time, for four hours. Once she thought he had drunk enough, she started giving him food. One tiny piece of white bread at a time. Sherlock's stomach hurt a bit, but not as much as it would have if she didn't feed him so slowly. She fed him for five hours.

"Why did you do all of that? You hate me. You wanted me to suffer like you suffered." his voice was faint and croaky, for he hadn't used it in a while.

"Because I had other people to keep me from dying, and since you're all alone here, I supposed I should be the one doing that."

She hesitated a moment before she continued talking.

"John isn't dead, Sherlock. I faked his death. It wasn't that hard, of course. I'm surprised you hadn't thought of that."

Sherlock was filled with indescribable relief and joy. He smiled faintly, since he was still too weak to do more.

"I'm not like you. I would never hurt the people I love for my own purposes." she said, and left the room, leaving Sherlock alone to digest both the food he was given and the news.

John wasn't dead.

She didn't kill him.

He felt so much better now. The stomach ache was gone. He just sat there, with his back to the wall, thinking happily about that small fact, for a few hours. Somehow, he didn't get bored.

Dana entered again, this time with a tray of food.

"Thought you should eat a bit more."

"Yes, thank you."

She handed him the tray, and as he ate hungrily, she sat on the chair. After a while Sherlock noticed she fell asleep. He quietly got up, and took her keys out of her pocket. He did it very carefully, so they won't jingle. He examined the keys. There were three identical ones, two pairs of different identical keys and two single keys. He assumed that the three identical keys belonged to his room, since she seemed to be the only one entering it. So the two other pairs had to belong to her room and to John's room. He took one of each and put it back in her pocket. He hoped the sleep would make her unfocused enough for her to not notice the lack of keys. He sat back on his bad and continued eating. When he was finished, he dropped his tray on the floor. The noise was loud enough to wake her up.

"Sorry about that. Did you finish?" she said as soon as she opened her eyes.

He nodded.

"Good." she got up, picked up the tray and walked out tiredly. As he hoped, she didn't notice there were missing keys.


	8. Chapter 8

It's been three hours since Sherlock came up with the plan, and now it was time to test it. He knew she wasn't going to come to his room again, so now was the right time to act. He pulled out the key he thought was the correct one, and turned it in the keyhole. It worked, and the door opened. Sherlock put it in a separate one from the others so he won't mix them up. He looked around. He was in a white corridor, with white numbered doors on both walls. He was on the third floor, since his room number was three-six-five. The doors to the left were also marked by the letter 'B', and the door to the right were marked by the letter 'A', So his room as three-six-five-B. He spotted a lift at the end of the corridor, and he walked quickly towards it. On his way he thought of the inevitable question – who will he go to first? Dana or John?

Well, since he already knew John was alive, he had nothing to worry about. Even though he desired to see him, to see for himself that he's alive, he knew that if he could, he'd tell him to go to Dana's room. So all he had to do was to find her room.

It didn't take him very long to understand – her room would be two-two-one-B. He entered the lift, and just as he was about to press the second floor, he realized something. She wouldn't live in that room, John would. So what room would she live in? What number would have significance for her?

He immediately knew the answer. He pressed the right button, and as the lift's door opened, he rushed out to the room he knew would be hers. He got to it, and he looked at the door for a moment before entering.

144A.

144 stands for the 14th of April. A stands for Aly.

No matter how much she loved him, or John, or even Mycroft – Aly was always the most important to her.

He pulled out one key and tried it. It didn't work, so he tried the other one. The door opened, and Sherlock entered quietly. He turned on the light and shut the door behind him.

The room was as small as his, if not smaller. It contained a small bed, a closet, a desk and a chair. There was a small notebook on the desk with a pen beside it. Sherlock sat on the chair and opened the notebook.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_I can't believe that you're here. You're actually here._

_After I've cried, I've screamed, I've died, I've missed you – you're back._

_I don't know what to do._

It was her diary. Sherlock turned the pages quickly. Every time she wrote something, she started by saying 'dear Sherlock'. This wasn't a diary for her – these were letters for him. He opened the drawers in the desk. Both of them were filled with notebooks, identical to the one on the desk. He closed the drawer and continued reading.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_I bet you're wondering why I am cooperating with Moriarty. After all, he ruined your life. Both our lives._

_But how can I tell you the reason I went with him at the first place? The secret both you and I, and even Mycroft and John, almost died so I won't tell?_

Sherlock turned more pages, until he found the answer.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_How do you expect me to be honest with you, when there are things you simply don't know? Things you can't deduce?_

_How could I tell you, that before he was Jim Moriarty, the consulting criminal, was once James Scott, my cousin? The only family I have left?_

Sherlock was startled. He had witnessed very peculiar situations before, but he had never expected such an answer.

Jim Moriarty is Dana's cousin. Her family.

He turned pages until he got to the last page.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_I love you. I still do. The way you grieved over John reminded me how much I've missed you. I wish I could tell you, kiss you, be with you. But I can't. if Moriarty will find out, I'll never get to see_

The door opened, and Sherlock shut the notebook and got up. It was Dana, and she was utterly surprised. She closed the door quietly.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"Something I should have done long ago." he said, and he walked to face her. He put his hands on her cheeks, and as her gaze moved to his eyes, he said: "Dana Scott, I love you." And he kissed her. It was a long and passionate kiss, after over three years he hadn't kissed her. She didn't respond. She didn't kiss him back. But it didn't matter. He just wanted to do this.

He pulled back, and looked at her eyes. All he could see was surprise. They stood there like that for a moment, his hands grasping her hair, her hands not touching him. But then she got up on her tiptoes, and she kissed him. Her hands quickly grasped his hair as well, and they were both smiling between each kiss. Neither of them thought about the other emotions they felt towards each other, or about the consequences. They just kissed each other happily, and enjoyed their reunion.

But the consequences weren't late to come.

The door opened behind them, but they didn't hear nor see it, since they were too occupied.

"Don't stop on my account." he said, and they both turned to him, surprised.

"Mr. Moriarty." she said in alarm. She walked away from Sherlock.

"I'm disappointed, Dana. I really am. You were such a good girl, getting information for our guests, but now…" he snapped his fingers. "It's all gone."

"Shame," he continued, as he pulled a cardboard file from his suit, and Dana's eyes filled with both hope and dread, "You were _so_ close."

He pulled a lighter from his suit as well, and started burning the file. Dana pounced forward, but Sherlock immediately caught her and wrapped his hands around her so she can't go any further. He knew Moriarty wanted her to attack him, for some reason, by the smile he had on his face.

And then everything made sense. Sherlock should have thought of this earlier, it was very obvious. By working for Moriarty, Dana was breaking all of her values, ignoring and oppressing her personality and feelings. She was hurting everyone she loved. Sherlock was disappointed of himself he didn't understand this before.

There was only one person Dana was willing to kill, torture and fight for – Aly. It was always Aly, all along. _She _was the cage trapping Dana. Everything she did, does and will do, will _always_ be for her.

And the file that Moriarty was currently burning was her file. The file of her death, with all of the real facts of her death, and maybe even the name of the murderer.

Moriarty's smile faded a moment after he finished destroying the file.

"Wait here for your punishment." he said seriously and left.

Dana struggled against Sherlock, in order to run outside after Moriarty, but he didn't let her. And after a while, she calmed down. He led go of her, and she stood there, with her back to him.

"Go now. I'll find you again later. Save the keys." she said quietly.

Sherlock stood in front of her. Her look was nothing but vacant.

"Are you alright?" he asked worriedly, and he put his hands on her shoulders.

"Go." she ignored his question and looked down.

Sherlock desperately walked to the door, but just before he left, he walked quickly back to Dana and kissed her lightly on her cheek. It made her smile a faint, almost invisible smile. And he left.


	9. Chapter 9

Dana opened the door with shaking hands. She expected to see one short man, but instead walked into a room where two men, one tall and one short, were sitting on a bed next to each other, laughing. Both their smiles faded as they saw her.

"Oh, god. Dana, what have they done to you?" the shorter man asked worriedly. He got up and escorted her to the bed, where he sat seconds ago. He could feel her shivering when his hand was on her back.

She knew she looked hideous – her hair was stuck to her forehead with sweat, she was awfully pale and she couldn't stop shivering.

"Dana, look at me. What have they done to you?" the man that was still sitting on the bed asked.

"Nothing." she whispered and lowered her look.

"You've been gone for five hours. They _have_ done something to you. Look, you can't even stop shivering! What did they do?" John asked with worried anger. Why wouldn't she tell them?

"They never touched me. At the first two hours, there wasn't even anyone presence."

"What happened, then?"

"I just watched old home-made films my parents recorded long ago." she whispered.

Sherlock looked shocked, while John was misunderstanding. Why would watching old films of her family would be torture?

"I suppose she was in them." Sherlock answered, equally quietly.

"In every single one. Laughing, dancing, singing…" her voice trailed off.

John frowned and looked at Sherlock with confusion.

"She was working for Moriarty because he had Aly's file." Sherlock explained to him quietly.

"Had?..." John tried to follow.

"He destroyed it in front of her. She…" Sherlock paused in the middle of the sentence, as he saw the look in Dana's eyes, that look she had every time, and only, when someone mentioned her late sister. A look of pain, of grief, of sorrow.

"Continue the sentence. Don't be shy. Say it." she said with her eyes closed tightly.

Sherlock opened his mouth, but then closed it.

"Say it. Say it! She had a chance to find out who killed her twin sister, but she was too stupid to use it. She let her heart control her instead of her brain, and that is how she lost the only chance she ever had to find her sister's murderer." she was speaking in hysteria now, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around her and hugged her. It was still strange for John, in a small part of his mind, to see Sherlock this close to a person.

"Wait." John said after a few moments.

"What?" Sherlock asked, irritated. He just wanted Dana to calm down a bit.

"You said 'the first two hours'. You were gone for five." he answered as if she was the one to answer him, and not Sherlock.

Sherlock released her of his hug and sat up straight.

"Well, that wasn't a torture, of course. In the next three hours, they still didn't touch me. All they did was to put me in a room the size of a large closet with just a small light on and the left me there."

"That's horrible." John said in shock.

"You weren't alone there, weren't you? You can be alone in a room for three hours, you'll manage. No, there was something else. Something worse." Sherlock said with his 'investigating look', like John called it.

Dana started shivering again. She closed her eyes.

"There were three of them. And they were _huge_. Largest ones I've ever seen. And they were _everywhere_." Her voice was shaking as she spoke.

"Men?" John asked in misperception. Didn't she just say she was alone in the room?

"Spiders." Sherlock said quietly. Tears started falling from Dana's eyes.

"Spiders?!" John was stunned.

"Yes, spiders. It's her greatest fear. How could you not know that?" he asked John in both shock and fury. He hugged her again, and pulled her as closest to him as possible. She was freezing.

"Could you believe that? I've killed people, I've seen horrifying things, yet the thing that frightens me the most is spiders." she laughed humourlessly. It was better than crying.

"You've got to get out of here." she said quietly when she finally calmed down.

"Yes – we have already started thinking of a plan how to –"

"_You_?" Sherlock interrupted.

"I can't leave. I still work for him. He knows all my weaknesses, all my fears. He'll never let me leave."

"And I know his." Sherlock said in sudden comprehension. Then he stood up, and repeated his words, more loudly this time, and with a smile. "I know his!"

"What? Sherlock, what are you talking about?"

"Remember what Moriarty did to me? The way he used the information my big-mouthed brother generously provided him with to ruin my life?" he explained to John.

"And now that you know who he used to be…" Dana was starting to understand, while John was still in the dark.

"I can track him. I can find his family. Learn everything about him." He paused for a moment. "I can destroy his life like he destroyed mine."

John was smiling, still digesting what he was just told.

"How do you plan to do this from in here, exactly?" she asked. She hated to blow his happy bubble away, but she was being realistic.

"I don't. This could be my weapon against him. _Our _weapon."

"We'll tell him to let us leave, and if he doesn't…" John was at last catching up with them.

"I'll destroy him." Sherlock said in satisfaction. He was clearly pleased with his idea, like he should be. Both John and Dana thought it was a brilliant idea.

"The only question is – how are we going to do it?" John asked the inevitable question.

Sherlock smiled in contentment.

"That's the easy part."


	10. Chapter 10

Dana was walking quickly towards Moriarty's office. She was repeating her orders in her mind, and just before she entered his room she replaced her stressed look with a blank one. The only opposite site in being a serial killer was that she had become a very good actress.

She opened the door. She knew she didn't have to be invited. She entered the large room and headed straight to his desk, where he sat, smiling smugly.

"What is it, dear?"

"There was a message left for you."

"Show me." his face became interested.

She typed up quickly in his computer, and in seconds the camera in Sherlock's room was up.

"My suggestion is very clear – we want to leave this place, unharmed, without hurting anyone. The only way it'll happen is if you'll let us leave." Sherlock spoke directly to the camera, and Moriarty rolled his eyes, still smiling. Sherlock looked so pathetic to him. "And since I already know you, I know you wouldn't do it for nothing. I'm not going to offer you a certain sum of money, because I know you're not interested in it. I want to offer you what you wanted the most all along." Moriarty's eyes widened. Could it be? It the great detective finally telling him his secret? "Your freedom."

Moriarty laughed in contempt. Does he honestly think he is threatening him in any way?

"You'll let us go, and in return, I won't destroy you like you destroyed me. I know who you really are, _James Scott_. I know everything about you. I could return you the favour easily." As Sherlock's smile grew bigger, Moriarty's smile faded away. He was genuinely afraid. His web, his empire, was in danger now. He could either lose the game or lose it all.

"You're free to leave." he said coldly to her.

She turned around and walked away quickly, trying to keep her smile hiden.

"Wait."

She turned.

"Didn't you forget something?" he asked. He opened the drawer in his desk, ad pulled out a file.

"You didn't burn it." she said in relief.

He handed it over to her. She walked to him quickly, and as she took the file from his hands, she led herself smile. Her smile was grateful, and he smiled back to her. At the moment she didn't stop to think about the strange situation – why is Moriarty voluntarily giving her what she wanted? She was too happy to think about it. She felt like she got to Sherlock's room in seconds, and she opened the door with a large smile. Both men got up and smile back to her. They realized the plan worked. Sherlock glanced at her hand and saw what she was holding. He took it away from her gently. She tried to take it back from him, but he whispered: "Wait until we're home." So she led him take it.

They walked out together, and none of the guards in the entire building disturbed them.


	11. Chapter 11

They were all in a taxi, on their way home – 221B Baker Street. Dana was talking quietly with John, still smiling. Sherlock used the opportunity that she was distracted to look into the file. There was something peculiar about the way the left. Moriarty never gives up.

The file had all of the usual data. And then he got to the name of the suspect, and he couldn't believe his eyes. And as unbelievable as it was, there were pictures of the man as a prisoner on the next page.

The name was Mycroft Holmes.

Moriarty had faked a file, and gave it to Dana.

She could read it and understand it is a fake. It would break her completely, tear what's left of her happiness apart.

But there was a worse option. She could read the file, and believe it. And not only it would shatter her, she would want revenge. Sherlock knew that whatever name she'll see in the file, she'll go after it. And she won't stop until she kills it.

She couldn't read the file. He couldn't let her.

They entered the flat. Both Dana and John couldn't stop smiling from the feeling of being home again. Even though John had a different home now, with a woman waiting for him in it, he had still missed this flat. Every time one of them looked at him he faked a smile, but he was too disturbed to think about being home again. As much as he had missed this place, Dana was more important.

"If you two don't mind," John said after they entered the flat, "I think I'll go and take a shower now. I should come home clean or Mary would start asking questions."

Dana laughed lightly.

"Not at all." she said. John nodded and walked to the bathroom.

"Let's read it." she said eagerly seconds after they heard John enter the shower. Before he could do anything, she picked it up from the coffee table. But he was quick enough to snatch it off her hands before she could open it.

"What are you doing?"

"Dana, listen to me. Don't you think it's strange that he gave this to you so easily? Without even fighting?" he was hoping that speaking reasonably with her will cause her to reconsider reading it.

"Perhaps he realized he was defeated." she said and pulled it out of his hands.

"Dana, wait." he didn't take the file away from her, but he held it with her. His hand on hers, holding it tightly.

She looked up from her hand to him. There were tears in her eyes.

"You're not going to let me read this, aren't you?" she asked in sadness.

"No, and you shouldn't want to read this. Dana, you are so strong. But you were forced to do things you would have never done if you had a choice. You've killed so many people, but you had no other choice. Now you _do_ have a choice. Be strong, Dana!" he spoke quietly, with hope and belief.

"He deserved it. Whoever did it to her. He deserves it." she was crying now, as she realized he won't let her read the file, but she was still trying to change his mind.

"He does. But you have to move on, Dana. It's the only way you can keep on going." he softly said, and he lifted the file until it was above the fireplace.

They looked in each other's eyes, as she realized what were his intentions.

"One. Two. Three." he whispered, and as he reached three, they both led go of the file. It fell down to the fireplace, and caught on fire quickly.

When John came back to the living room, he saw Sherlock and Dana hugging each other tightly, and he heard weeps. Both a man's and a woman's.


	12. Chapter 12

"Sherlock, if you're asking me not to look, I just won't. You don't have to cover my eyes."

"Please. I know for long enough to know you'll peek. And it'll ruin the surprise."

He leaded her a bit further, and then looked around to make sure he's in the right spot. He removed his hands from her eyes.

"Alright, open your eyes."

The curious and excited smile she had faded away the second she saw where she was. They stood under St. Barts, in the exact spot where she found John leaning next to Sherlock's body.

"What kind of sickened joke is this?!" she asked furiously and pushed him away from her. "Did you think it would be funny? Because it isn't. Not even a bit." she started walking away angrily.

"Wait, Dana!" he called to her and ran after her. She turned to him. "Hear me out first. We're here for a reason." he said softly and excitedly, and pulled her arm gently so she'll follow him. She did.

"I know it's hard for you to be here. It is for me too. But I've planned this for a long while now, so don't ruin it." he placed her in the right spot again.

"You've _planned _this? What is there to plan?" she asked confused. She still didn't understand, and Sherlock was grateful that just this once she was an ordinary woman, and not the woman who read threw him in seconds.

"Look, you know I don't care about out status, but I know that you do. You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. But you're not just an empty shell – you're so much more. You're clever, you're kind, you're strong – and you love me. You're the first woman that ever loved me. And you're the first woman I have ever loved. I want you to be the last one too." he said lovingly, and his eyes sparkled. And just as Dana started to wonder if he is actually doing what she thought he does, he kneeled. Dana covered her mouth with her hand in surprise. Tears filled her eyes.

"This is the exact place where I left you, and this is the _exact_ place where I'm asking you to be forever mine." he pulled a small black box out of his coat. He opened it, and there was a ring in it. It wasn't the biggest or the fanciest, but Dana knew immediately why he picked it – it matched her earrings.

"Dana Scott, I love you. Will you marry me?" he asked with hope and love.

"Yes." She whispered, and her voice was shaking with excitement.

Sherlock smiled the biggest smile she had ever seen him smiling, and he got up. He put the ring on her shaking finger, and he kissed her. Their very first kiss as a real couple. He didn't lie when he said he doesn't care about the status, but now that he knew that she is now legally his, he couldn't be happier. He must remember to thank John for that sentence. Just because he laughed at his face when he suggested it doesn't mean he didn't like it. They kept kissing, and for a few moments, Dana had forgotten about what once happened where they were now kissing.


	13. Chapter 13

_Dear Aly,_

_I'm sorry I haven't written anything to you in such a long time. A lot had changed._

_First, I'm married to the most wonderful man in the world. Sherlock Holmes. You would have loved him. He's kind, thoughtful, a true genius… Actually, scratch that. You'd hate him. But he's my husband, so you'd have to suck it up._

_Our wedding wasn't too big. If it was up for him, he would have wanted a small wedding with only a few witnesses and that's it. But of course I didn't agree. I made Sherlock ask Mycroft to be his best man, even though I knew he planned that John would take that part. He's his brother, of course he will be his best man! When Sherlock asked him to do that, I really believe I saw some real love in Mycroft's eyes. As much as Sherlock annoys him, he actually loves him. So that was the best man part. And who walked me down the aisle you ask? Well, of course John had to have a part in our wedding. And since he's both mine and Sherlock's best friend, I thought it would be the best if he occupied that part. Mary was my bridesmaid._

_But don't worry, you were presence too. We saved you a seat, in the middle of the first row. Accept for you, the other people who came were Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan, that I think Sherlock invited just to provoke them with the fact that he's getting married before they do. But they showed up anyway. Everybody loves weddings. Mrs. Hudson came as well, of course, equipped with a tissue, that she used when Sherlock lovingly said "I do". I felt like tearing up myself as well, but as cliché as it sounds, I promised myself I wouldn't cry. This was my happy day. Sherlock invited Mum, but I cancelled the invitation without telling him. Of course, his mother didn't show up as well, so I suppose he did the same. We're so alike. We got some nice wedding gifts. John ironically bought me a pair of pajamas. Mrs. Hudson bought us new sheets. Mycroft got him some suits, since he seemed to have a lack in them when we were at Buckingham Palace. Everybody seemed to make their gifts to some sort of jokes. We obviously loved it. But then there was the last gift – a copy of a painting. And not just any painting – The Reichenbach Falls. Who'd give us such a present, you ask? All that came with it was a small note, with the words: 'I'm still watching you.' We both suspect Moriarty managed to give us a present somehow without being presence. Or maybe he was presence? Anyway, we hung the painting in the flat. We didn't move out of 221B. We just couldn't._

_We both already knew that as much as we missed relaxing together, we'll both get bored after one day of doing so. So we had a different kind of honeymoon – we flew to four different countries, stayed a week in each, helping the local police solve the more complicated crimes. Investigating at day, celebrating at night. Every time someone heard that that was how we're spending our honeymoon, they were shocked. But we just laughed at their faces. It's incredible how many languages Sherlock knows!_

_Five months later, we discovered that I'm pregnant. After they told us it was a girl, we started thinking of names. Sherlock immediately suggested Irene. I knew it wasn't because he wanted to name our child after that woman, but it was because it was the first female name he thought of. But I still didn't agree, so I suggested Sally – Donovan's first name. He gave up on the name Irene. So our unborn child remained nameless. When she was born, we both started thinking of a name for her. Sherlock had seen pictures of me as a baby before, and we both couldn't help seeing me in her face. She looked so much like me, and therefore, so much like you. We named her after you! Aly is now five years old. She has two younger brothers, twins at the age of three – Hamish, named after John, and Mike. I thought Mike was a shortcut for Mycroft, but Sherlock thought of Mike Stamford when we named him – the man who introduced him to John. Anyway, I told Mycroft he's named after him, and he told Stamford he's named after him. Only John knew the truth. The kids call him 'Uncle John', and I think he's even Hamish's favourite uncle. Ironically, Mycroft is Mike's favourite uncle. And Aly? She loves them both. She's so much like you – clever, beautiful, loving. Sherlock and I agreed that at the age of twelve, we'll tell her the truth about you. The boys don't need to know. Not until they're older._

_And now to the inevitable question – why am I telling you all that now? Why now?_

_Well, I've been very good so far – very stable and strong. But April 14th is coming, and I feel like I won't make it. We already told the children I'll leave for a couple of days for work, when I'll actually stay at Mycroft's. He was always the best at keeping me strong. He was the first to do so. I wish he'll have a girlfriend, so I'll stop feeling like he's still heart-brokened._

_I miss you, Aly. And when I miss you, I'm unstable. It was alright when it was just Sherlock and I, but now it's not. I have three children now, and they're more important than anything else. They can't suffer like Sherlock did._

_God, I love them. I wish you got a chance to experience this. True love, children. As naïve as it sounds, it's true. I finally got my happy ending. The only problem is that it's not over yet. And no matter how hard I try, I can't stop thinking about the note Moriarty sent us. If he's still watching us, that means he knows about Aly, Hamish and Mike. What if he'll use them to blackmail us? I can't let that happen, but there's no way I can prevent it._

_But I got to stay positive. For them. For Sherlock. For John. For Mycroft. For Mary. There are so many people I care about now, and they care about me too. And as vulnerable as it makes me feel, it's the best feeling in the world!_

_But it's not complete without you._

_Yours forever,_

_Dana Holmes._


	14. Chapter 14

When Sherlock entered the living room, it was empty. Neither Dana nor John were up yet, so he took his laptop and started reading John's recent update in his blog. Just as he finished reading, John entered the room.

"Good morning."

"John, this is appalling. It's all 'and then we ran here! And then we ran there! And it was a code!' What about the analysis, John? The analysis! How did I work it out? How did I know where to go? And as for 'All these people he involves in his adventures... '. My what? I'm sorry, obviously I didn't realize I was a character in a children's story."

John moaned.

"Well, you're very childish. So if the cap fits…"

"Also, please note that sentences can also end in full stops. The exclamation mark can be overused."

"Sherlock, I – "

"Good morning, Dr. Watson. Is everything alright? You two sound a bit upset."

"Good morning Dana. Everything is fine, he's just – "

"_Is that my shirt?_" Sherlock asked in surprise and confusion. She was wearing one of his buttoned shirts, a dark-blue one. It was at the length of a short dress on her, and the sleeves were folded so they wouldn't be too long.

"Well what did you expect me to sleep in?"

"Your _own _clothes?" John asked.

"I forgot to bring anything to sleep in."

"How could you forget that?!"

"You try packing while arguing with Mycroft. It's very distracting."

"You argue quite often, don't you?" Sherlock asked tactlessly.

"I love him, but he can be very over-protective sometimes. Besides, what couple doesn't argue?"

Sherlock didn't like her use of the word 'couple'.

Dana looked around.

"This place is filthy. Do you ever clean here?"

Neither of them answered.

"Forget I asked. Anyway, now I know how am I going to spend the day."

She said that, and started working. From that moment until the sun set, she cleaned the flat. She changed the sheets in their bed, dusted the furniture, and cleaned the floor. She worked all day long, without taking any breaks or complain. And as it got dark, she was done, and she started cooking. She wasn't making them dinner – she prepared food for a whole week. Since she had known the men, she knew neither of them would make anything to eat after she'll leave, so did it instead of them. John left early for he had had a date, so Sherlock and Dana were left alone. They ate dinner together in silence. After they were done, Dana washed the dishes and Sherlock played the violin. Once Dana was done, she went to stand next to Sherlock and looked at him with admiration. She seemed to be fascinated by the music he was playing.

"That was _beautiful_!" she said as he finished playing.

"It's not hard, once you know the basics."

"I wish I knew them as well. I can only play the piano, but I had always wanted to learn how to play a different instrument."

"I could teach you if you want."

"You could?" her face lightened up.

He handed her the violin, and she gently took it. He placed it on her shoulder. He stood behind her, and each of his hands were on hers, holding her in a way he could move them to demonstrate.

"You hold the arch like this, and you simply rub it against the strings." he said and moved her arch-holding hand in a way it would make a sound. She was excited she managed to play something. She turned her head to thank Sherlock, and that was when she realized how close she was to him. His arms were around her, on her arms. His face was centimeters away from hers. They looked at each other like that for a few moments, each thinking what should they do next. Sherlock leaned just a bit forward.

John went inside.

"Well, she ditched me. I waited there, and – what are you doing?" John said, clearly still upset about his cancelled date. Sherlock immediately took a step back, and Dana turned to face John.

"Oh, hello, Dr. Watson. Sorry to hear that. Mr. Holmes was just trying to teach me how to play the violin."

"Are you any good?"

"Well, I've just started."

"Oh. Well, if you don't mind, I'll go and take a shower." He said and left.

Dana and Sherlock looked at him, and then Dana broke the silence.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"What is it about me that keeps you curious? I mean, you know everything about me. What is left for you to find out?" she said and turned to him, still standing very close to him.

Sherlock opened his mouth, and then closed it. Then he opened it again and spoke very quietly.

"I have… I have to know _why_ is my brother so different around you. Why you argue very often, yet you're always the one to win. Why is he so worried about you all the time, and treats you with such delicacy he think you could just break in any minute?"

Her face became blank, and Sherlock understood she was dead-serious as she answered him.

"Well, you'll have to work very hard for that part, because I'm _never_ going to tell you that part."

They exchanged looks, and just then John went out of the bathroom, and Dana's impression changed immediately. She looked much more calm.

"I think I'll go to bed now. Good night." she said and walked to Sherlock's room. Just as she got to the door, she turned around.

"Dr. Watson." she called, and he raised his head.

"If she stood you up, she was never worth of your time." She said with a shy smile, and then entered the room and closed the door behind her.


	15. Chapter 15

_Dear Aly,_

_Daddy finally led me read Mom's old diary. He told me her real story. How she died. Why she died. Who am I really names after._

_I suppose this deserves an update. I won't write much, because Dad might come in any minute and he doesn't let me write here. But I do anyway. I'll write each update separately._

_April 14th is a difficult day for us. Uncle John and Aunt Mary always come over, and Dad spends the day with Uncle Mycroft. Mary used to distract us from the fact that neither of our parents is presence. But two years ago, when I was twelve, Uncle John started telling me stories about Mom. I don't know which ones are real and which isn't. But she was the brave clever hero in all of them. I think they might be all real, because he always seems so distant when he tells me them._

_I'm the only one who knows about you. Daddy didn't tell Hamish and Mike. They're still too young. But I'm fourteen now, I'm old enough._

_So here's everything that changed:_

_- Dad's favourite color is purple, because that was the colour of the shirt Mom wore when they first… you know. (Dad thinks I'm too young to know this, but Uncle John told me.)_

_- Uncle Mycroft was the one to tell Mrs. Hudson that Mom died. Dad stood behind him with his back to us. When he told her, she hugged him right away. I think I was the only one to understand, but I pretended I didn't. Dad always says I grew up too fast. Well, Mom died too fast._

_- Everybody keep telling I look so much like her, and like you. I found a torn picture of you in Daddy's drawer, but he got angry when I showed it to him. I think there were tears in his eyes. But when I told you she was beautiful he said: "Yes, they were." Only today I realized what he meant._

_- I also found a pair of earrings in that drawer. I know they were Mom's, and they are beautiful, but no one lets me touch them. Not even Uncle Mycroft, and he's always the nicest. I think I remind him of you two too much for him to refuse my request. But he did this time._

_- I got the earrings for my 14th birthday. Dad asked me to promise me I'll never lose them. I did. I never remove them._

_- Uncle John and Aunt Mary named their daughter after her. John wanted to keep the name, but Mary wanted to change it a bit. So now Danielle is five years old. She was born on July seventh, Mom's birthday. And yours as well, I guess._

_I miss her. I always do. But Dad told me how much she missed you, and how much it hurt her. I'm not going to be like her. I'm learning from her mistakes._

_But I miss her. I love Dad, I love the twins, I love my uncles and aunt, I love Mr. Hudson, I love Dad's friend (I think he's called Lestrade. Isn't that a strange name?), but there's no replacement for a mother._

_Mom was buried right beside you. Dad thought you should be the closest as possible. The only times I saw him cry were when we visited her grave._

_I'm stronger than Dad. I have to be. For Hamish and Mike, and for Dad. And for you, and for Mom. I can't let you all down. I wish Mom could see me. I wonder if she was proud of me. I hope she was._

_I'll trying writing more, but I can't promise anything. I'm not allowed to, and if Dad finds out I did…_

_Yours,_

_Aly Holmes._


End file.
